


do it (for me)

by illmasked



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Drabble Collection, Hand Jobs, Japanese Rope Bondage, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 20:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18880267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illmasked/pseuds/illmasked
Summary: amaguji drabble collection.





	1. red coils

**Author's Note:**

> warnings will be tagged if necessary. split this off from the other drabble collection as the ficlets here will go into nsfw territory.

He kisses the ropes gently, tugging them tighter as he does, binding him tighter with beautiful coils of red, and Shinguuji is shaking under him.

“Are you okay?” Amami asks, motion stilling as he lowers himself to his lover’s eye, but Shinguuji won’t meet his gaze.

“Fine. Continue.”

Unsatisfied with the answer, Amami rolls off Shinguuji’s back to flop beside him, straw rope dangling in his hand.

“Tell me what’s wrong. The secret to a good relationship is communication, right?” He gives the rope a playful tug. “I can still free you, if you want.”

“It’s not that…” Shinguuji’s golden eyes flick over to him hesitantly. “I am simply wondering why you’ve stayed for so long.”

Amami slides closer, resting his cheek on Shinguuji’s bare shoulder. “What do you mean by that?”

“There are better lovers in the world, and you have likely met a number of them already.”

“Really? I don’t recall.”

“Rantarou,” he urges quietly. “You don’t have to stay with me, that is what I am trying to tell you.”

“I see, so that’s how you feel…” Amami rises again, stretching as he coolly slinks back up to straddle Shinguuji’s back, coiling the rope around his wrist. With a cunning smile, he ducks down to whisper, soft and sensual, “Remember, safe word is butterfly.”

Shinguuji presumably opens his mouth under the mask to protest but Amami gives a telling tug to the rope which prompts a sharp intake of breath instead. He hasn’t finished tying, but at this point, it will have to do.

Amami isn’t good with making heartfelt speeches, nor is he as skilled with waxing poetic as Shinguuji is — he melts every time he reads the poems his stupidly romantic lover had written about him, it’s just _not fair, not fair at all_ — but he is good at loving through action. If he was going to make Shinguuji feel loved, it was through this and this alone.

He tightens the binds even more, feeling Shinguuji writhe under him, but otherwise remain silent. That was something he was going to change.

He smirks.

“Hey, you know… you’re really beautiful,” the murmur leaves him as a sigh, “Really, really beautiful.”

“I wouldn’t particularly — ah!” Just as planned, a quick pull on the restraints knocks the air right out of Shinguuji, and his chest heaves as he gasps into the sheets beneath him, eyes fluttering shut.

“I’m talking,” Amami says, tenderly kissing the back of his neck. “Be quiet.”

He is met with a timid nod; either Shinguuji was getting into character or he was genuinely submitting. It doesn’t matter too much. Amami would never take advantage of his trust.

“Don’t worry,” he pets him lightly on the head, dragging fingers through Shinguuji’s long hair. “I promise I’ll take good care of you.”


	2. late night

In a feverish haze, he presses against him, mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue. There’s something akin to desperation there, because he can’t help but think that this is the last time. With Korekiyo being so unpredictable, he’s always afraid that it will be the last time. 

Korekiyo traces his hands down his sides, infuriatingly gentle, before the heel of his left palm finds the bulge in his sweatpants. 

Rantarou moans softly, involuntarily into the kiss, fingers finding their place in Korekiyo’s hair, drawing a breath out of him that’s met by another more forceful press against his erection. Any sound he makes is lost in Korekiyo’s mouth, all speech devoured, the taller humming in satisfaction as though he was getting just what he wanted —  _ smug bastard,  _ Rantarou thinks. 

They part for air, saliva trailing, and Rantarou finds himself flushing deeply. He loves and hates how easy it is to come apart under Korekiyo’s watchful gaze. 

As if knowing this — it’s likely he does — Korekiyo murmurs slyly, “You’re not wearing anything under this, are you?”

“Well, no, but,” Rantarou breathes, having an excuse prepared, despite not anticipating Korekiyo’s visit at all. “I was already getting ready for bed when you dropped by. Is that a problem for you?”

“On the contrary,” his voice is low. “That is very convenient for me, indeed.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Yes, it most definitely is…” Korekiyo runs his finger along the hem of his pants, teasingly. “How shall I toy with you tonight? That is something I have yet to decide… however, I know that however you unravel, it will be a beautiful sight…”

Rantarou rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have long to keep his composure intact, however, as Korekiyo’s cool fingers wrap around his hardening length, his free hand aiding in the process of removing his sweatpants. 

He moans quietly, feeling a rush of heat burn just under his skin. The movements between them are slick and Rantarou lets himself be a plaything for a moment, before he starts to run his fingers through Korekiyo’s hair, starting from the roots and relishing in the shiver he gets in response. 

He tugs and Korekiyo groans, momentarily shivering in delight once more, before he repays the action with a rough jerk of his hand, and Rantarou gasps, clutching his hair tighter and pulling him back into another frenzied kiss. 


	3. i missed you

The moment he exits the bathroom, Amami finds himself being pinned to the wall, the sensation of a kiss only reaching him when Shinguuji breathes mask-unzipped, open-mouthed against his lips, golden eyes filled with a glaze of frustration.

Amami is speechless as he takes this in, and is about to ask what the matter is when he’s reeled in again. This time, he reciprocates eagerly, kissing him like there’s no tomorrow, hands resting on his hips as Shinguuji grinds helplessly into him, an uncharacteristic whine on the tip of his tongue.

It is incredibly rare that Shinguuji ever loses his cool — his beautifully poised, calm, composed demeanor — but never has Amami seen him like this, not even before they started dating and had only been friends with benefits that had no problem rutting against each other, mutual understanding of trust between their lips.

Amami doesn’t understand this.

“Is something wrong?” He asks quietly as they part, his lover’s lips a deep passionate red, thoroughly kissed.

“I… no,” Shinguuji evidently lies, before seeing better of it. He plays with the zipper of his mask, seemingly uncertain of how to respond. “I… suppose it’s been... a while. I may have missed you a little.”

“Oh.” Amami cannot hide the pleasant surprise in his tone. “This is… new.”

“How so?” Shinguuji presses up against him, fingers finding the small of his back, curling into the fabric. “I always miss you when you’re gone.”

“Mm,” Amami says, finding the boldness to cup his ass through his jeans, making him shiver. “But never like this. Did you just miss having a warm body in your bed?”

“I-it’s more than that,” he confesses, genuine confusion in his eyes. It’s adorable. “You know that.”

“I know, I was just teasing you.” Amami laughs, leaning forward to kiss him again. Then again, teasingly missing his mouth, before Shinguuji makes an unexpectedly needy noise and guides their lips into meeting again.

Amami’s laughter only heightens when he breaks away. “Well, it was very chivalrous of you to let me use the shower before you came and wrecked me. Thanks.”

Shinguuji blushes, looking as though he wished to hide his face in his hands but instead ends up pushing said hands beneath Amami’s sweatpants and sighing when he meets bare skin.

“You have really got to wear underwear more often.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you complaining?”

“Not quite.” Shinguuji smirks cunningly, fingers wrapping around his boyfriend’s length and making him gasp softly. “Simply put, you are making this far too easy for me.”

“You are _so_ ,” Amami laughs a little breathlessly, and he can’t quite control his laughter when he’s as nervous and happy as he is, not even as his lover starts to draw out his arousal with slow, gentle strokes, “Ridiculously filthy.”

“Perhaps,” Shinguuji responds. A little teasingly too, he asks, “Are you complaining?”

He grins, “Nah, just stating facts. Your mind is a gutter.”

“I won’t deny it,” he takes Amami’s pants out of the way, lifting his partner bridal style as he does, to get it off in one fell swoop. Amami laughs and goes along with it, as he always does, not at all protesting to his shirt being thrown aside and his being tossed onto the bed, fully bare again, as Shinguuji crawls up to straddle him.

“You’re eager to get me out of my clothes,” Amami hums. “You should have just joined me in the shower.”

“Ah. Wasn’t in the mood for water,” he replies, taking a moment to just marvel at the naked wonder before him. “Besides… you do look so beautiful against the sheets like this. I couldn’t forgo that sight for a cloud of steam. I always want you like this.”

Amami chuckles lightly as hands skitter up his sides. “Always? Now, don’t get too greedy.”

“I,” Shinguuji pauses ever so slightly before pulling down his mask and pressing his lips against Amami’s neck, almost as if he was hiding away, “have fantasies, often. About the things I want to do with you. We have such limited time on this earth, and I want to experience so many things,” he plants kisses up until he reaches the shell of Amami’s ear, whispering softly into it, “with you.”

Amami shivers, hands coming up to card through his lover’s hair. “Oh, yeah? That’s very sweet, babe, but I was gone for like, a week at most, wasn’t I?”

“And it was a week in which I missed you so very much,” he mumbles against his ear, a kiss planted gently on the silver stud resting there. “It is incredibly selfish of me, but I want to be with you, always. I know that, now. I’m sorry,” his fingers drag tantalizingly slowly down Amami’s chest. “I know my emotions can be overwhelming, and you are someone that does not like being tied down, but I am so,” lifting his head, he gazes at Amami with glassy eyes, “so, so in love with you, I cannot even explain how much.”

It's another beat before Amami smirks in response, fingers curling around Shinguuji’s collar and pulling him down so their faces almost touch. “Then how about you show me?”


	4. beg

“You’re really going to make me beg for it?” _  
_

Shinguuji nods, gaze hazy as he trails his fingers down Amami’s sides, stopping at the ropes that clung tightly to his thighs.

Amami’s breathing had long betrayed him, if his arousal doesn’t serve as any indication, and yet Shinguuji takes his time, using the ropes to spread his shaking legs apart.

“Beg for it,” he murmurs, fingers tracing his partner’s dick. Amami gasps, and strains to close his thighs over the situation, but is unable to move. The lightest touch makes him whimper involuntarily. Shinguuji seems to smile. “I won’t touch you properly until you beg.”

“You’re so _cruel_ ,” Amami chokes out, arching as he tries to find friction in the brush of Shinguuji’s fingers but to no avail. “I can’t believe you.”


	5. while kissing

Shinguuji has long known his mouth was sensitive, just as much as he had known how much Amami wanted to kiss him but respected his boundaries, and this was how he figured he would start the day with his boyfriend — somewhat of a surprise, or an affirmation of his affection. 

In the privacy of his apartment, he pulled Amami in, mentioning it idly and removing his mask to lean in. 

“Can I kiss you like this?” barely leaves his mouth before Amami captures it, arms twining around his waist and drawing him ever closer. 

He couldn’t stop the way he melted in Amami’s embrace the moment their lips met, knees growing weak as he struggled to hold himself together, but it was no easy feat. The confidence he had was waning with every gentle nibble on his lip, tongue against tongue, and suddenly Amami was pressing him up to the wall and he was a slave to his touch. 

Not even the air touches his lips this intimately, so the way Amami moves against them is intoxicating, thrilling, exhilarating. Shinguuji is suddenly all too aware that their hips are pressed together, and wonders if he can smoothly manoeuvre himself out before this becomes an inevitably shameful situation. 

However. Kissing Amami is freeing, in a way it shouldn’t be, in a way that his sensitivity is preening for, and he moans silently into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair. 

Amami’s tongue swipes along his bottom lip gently and Shinguuji is quick to meet it with his own, even as he’s steadily losing strength in his legs. As far as their relationship goes, kissing has barely ever been a priority and neither has ever pushed for it, but Shinguuji knows that Amami will soon figure out why. 

As their tongues meet, Amami presses up against him, thigh slipping between his legs and Shinguuji can’t hold back the sound that leaves him, intensely, intensely aroused. 

They part to breathe and Amami’s face is flushing, much pinker than it was after other, chaster kisses, and Shinguuji doesn’t have to say a word — he knows Amami is sharp enough to realize by now. 

“Kissing… turns you on?” He asks, in his oft casual composure, but the fact that he cannot evidently hide his slight fluster amuses Shinguuji greatly. 

“I cannot control my physical reaction,” he informs Amami in a smooth, even tone. “So though it may be unexpected, your deduction is absolutely correct. You are also an incredibly sensational kisser.”

“I, that,” Amami’s blush somehow deepens. “Oh. I see.”

“Very eloquent that the smooth talker be rendered speechless for once, though this side of you is beautiful, too,” Shinguuji replies, amused. “Now are you just going to stare at me or are you going to finish what you started?”


	6. shower

“I’m taking a shower, be right back,” Amami tosses over his shoulder, already taking off his shirt and letting it fall to the ground in the hallway.

“At least try not to make such a mess,” Shinguuji mutters, following to pick up the shirt mostly for safety reasons but also because his partner refused to put his things away properly today. He could blame it on being a late evening, but when he looks up and Amami’s left his tank top on the floor a few steps ahead, he only sighs. “Do you think exhaustion excuses this behaviour, Rantarou?”

He picks up the top, already knowing that he’d come in contact with his pants another few metres down, and picks that up, as well as his underwear, and raps politely on the sliding door between the hallway and the laundry.

As their laundry and bathroom are connected, he did not wish to intrude without invitation, but amidst the sound of rushing water, Amami calls, “Come in,” and so he believes it to be safe. With a curt bow of his head, he slips into the laundry room, pointedly directing his gaze away from the shower, and places the garments in his hands into the basket. 

He busies himself rearranging the laundry items around the washing machine for a moment, before his mind begins to feed ideas into his mind that he is not all too keen to act upon. 

Unfortunately, Shinguuji knows that his libido is uncontrollably high, and as fascinating as that is to explore, he would truly rather not be enticed by every opportunity to satisfy it. Not because he doesn’t want to, not at all, but because he feels as though he should have more control of himself when it comes to these physically compromising reactions, particularly now that he’s just imagined joining Amami in his shower, and the very thought sends pleasant shivers down his spine. 

The way the water would caress his body, running like rivers over his collarbones and shoulder and down his beautiful, toned legs. 

A problem. He chances a quick glance over his shoulder, the silhouette of his lover lending him to swallow nervously. He should not be taking advantage of such a vulnerable moment — a cleansing ritual should be sacred and personal, after all, even if his traitorous mind conjures up images of running his hands along his love’s beautiful back, his firm sides, touching him in places even the water cannot reach. 

His breathing has long since decided it wouldn’t work properly, and he wonders what he should do. He pulls off the mask, with nothing to expose to after all, and thinks about hightailing to the bedroom to relieve his arousal, but then again. He runs his fingers along the hem of his pants, pondering. 

It would be so much more thrilling to do it here, where Amami could catch him in the act anytime, and that turns him on more than anything. 

He decides its worth the risk, not only because he’s straining against his pants but theoretically speaking, he has the added benefit of the sound of water masking any involuntary noises — not that he would consider himself vocal, but ah, well, it never hurts to be prepared. 

He allows himself the first tantalizing touch, hunched over and pressing into himself, privately, bracing himself against the washing machine. He starts slowly, pumping with practiced hands, teeth tacking down on his lip. 

His imagination is allowed to take over almost immediately after his eyes flutter shut, images of his partner replacing his touch, Amami’s soothing voice in his ear, husky and low. 

He is hyper aware of the shower stopping behind him. That momentary pause to shake off suds, and breathe in the gentle steam before entering a bath — yes, he is so familiar with it. He can see the planes of his lover’s body, heated and flushed pink from the water, and his eyes with a soft glaze, so divinely relaxed. Beautiful. 

His pace quickens, unable to help himself from submitting to it, and he gasps ever so lightly, delighted by his body’s painstakingly human reaction. This stimulus is never any less fascinating, how a simple feeling can erupt in such a want and ache, how biological functions as these can be waxed lyrical over and over.

The shower door slides open from behind him, a sharp but sudden break through his thoughts. The panic that settles in the moment is beautiful too, but alas, there is nothing to be afraid of. 

“Korekiyo…?” Amami asks. “You okay? What are you doing out here?”

He lets his breath still with a shaky exhale. “Apologies. I didn't mean to worry you. I was perhaps simply too deep in… thought. Have you finished showering already?”

“Nah, just wanted to grab something,” he shuffles his feet on the bath mat, stepping into Shinguuji’s peripheral as he reaches for the top cabinet. The towel hanging loosely around his waist does not help him in the slightest. 

Shinguuji almost forgets his place when Amami looks at him, noticing that he’s barefaced but rapidly turning red, and frees the washing machine to drape a fallen shirt over his lap. 

“Folding,” Amami says carefully. “You’re sitting here… folding?”

“Mm,” Shinguuji nods the affirmative, because it’s all he can think of. 

“Dirty laundry?”

“It’s fine.”

“... are you sure you’re okay?” Amami leans in closer, oblivious to the way Shinguuji’s eyes track a droplet of water down his neck, but seeming to catch the moment his gaze flickers a little too far down, and Amami blinks. “Oh. I see.”

Shinguuji feels his face burn, a frightful but delectable sensation, as he shifts uncomfortably on the spot. 

“You… see.” He wants to laugh to recover his composure but there is something about the proximity that stamps out his eloquence and leaves him frantically trying to look anywhere but back at Amami, whose lips are curling upwards in amusement. 

“Well,” he smiles generously. “I should have expected as much. You’re filthy.”

The word shouldn’t be as pleasing as it is. “I must have you know that I did not plan for this.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Amami stretches back up to his full height, sauntering back towards the shower. “You know,” he calls. “You’re always welcome to join me. I’ll be in here for a while.”

Shinguuji only nods again, subduing his shame in the moment, knowing full well he would take him up on the offer. 

He tosses the shirt back up where it belongs and attempts to calm the frantic rhythm of his heart, long enough to stave the anxious dilemma of whether he should keep his clothes on or not. If it’s too forward to show up without them — or if it’s fitting to shower without and he’d look ridiculous with every layer on. 

He’s so lost in thought this time that he doesn’t hear Amami re-emerge, and shake his head with a sigh. It is only when his partner traps him against the washing machine does he startle, spinning around and feeling the arousal shoot through his system renewed at the feeling of his lover so close and so bare to the world. The towel is still there but it’s starting to becoming a hindrance. 

“I figured you were going to overthink it,” Amami starts casually. “This might be a little forward, but I’d like to see you take everything off right here, if that's okay.”

Shinguuji flushes deeply, not only at the prospect of being caught excessively pondering an inanity such as this, but now having to strip in front of his partner’s keen eyes — he’s a little short of breath, actually. 

“Does that turn you on?” Amami laughs, and god, it isn’t helping one bit. He gently releases the washing machine and helps Shinguuji to his feet. “I can get you out of these clothes if you’re willing to let me help.”

Shinguuji knows where his eyes are, and the humiliation — the shame, despite having already been caught earlier — of having his unraveling on full display is doing things to his heart that he’s not sure he can handle much longer. He wants to drag his teeth along Amami’s clavicle, make him scream, make him forget that he started with the upper hand, but he doesn’t. 

“I will do it myself,” he murmurs, making quick work of the buttons on his shirt. He steps out of his pants with a similar frantic air, and tosses both garments into the laundry basket. He hesitates with the underwear, but the slide of the shower door prompts him to momentarily turn around, and Amami’s dropped the towel so he does, too. 

He’s burning, and he doesn’t know why. He’s hardly one to be ashamed, but when the water starts up again and Amami’s lips are on him, he doesn’t think he’s going to complain anytime soon. 


End file.
